I will go somewhere for a deal. I have a list of places I’d like to visit; these are places that require a varying amount of days/money. One city I have wanted to visit, for many years, is Edinburgh. Flights to Edinburgh are always expensive. Always. Flights to Dublin are not expensive. Further, flights on Norwegian Air, from New York Stewart (Newburgh, NY) are even cheaper.

Thus, for a Memorial Day Weekend trip, we drove to Newburgh, NY, flew to Dublin, spent two nights in Dublin, flew to Edinburgh via Ryan Air (cheap), spent two nights in Edinburgh, and flew back to Dublin for one night. My planning knows no bounds. I will research trips and airports and routes and options until I find the best deal. This was the cheapest way to visit Edinburgh, from Philadelphia, for Memorial Day Weekend.

Dublin, on the other hand, I had considered visiting a few times. I had thought about a solo trip in the past few years. My good friend had spent weeks there and visited many times. This seemed like a good, cheap trip. But, overall, I was never dying to go to Dublin.

After a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Newburgh, and an overnight flight to Dublin, we arrived early in the morning. The airport bus was easy transportation to downtown and we found a place to stow our luggage.

Dublin looked exactly as I imagined: grey, squat blocks of houses, and a smaller-touristy downtown. There was also a very drunk late-night scene. We took the tour at Guinness and Jameson. We had coffee at Coffee Angel. I ate fish and chips twice, at bars with various, similar names. We had excellent Asian food at Neon Asian Street Food; a highlight is the self-serve, soft-serve machine.

After two nights in Dublin and visiting with friends from England and the US, we took an early-morning bus to the airport and a rather easy Ryanair flight to Edinburgh. Sleep-deprived, we dragged ourselves around the center of Edinburgh. We drank coffee and had excellent bacon sandwiches at Cairngorn Coffee. We checked into our AirBnb as soon as we could and took a very long nap. After a few hours, we went out for more wanderings and Indian food for dinner.

The next day we took a tour of the underground, had coffee at Brew Lab, enjoyed a Sunday Roast at The OX, cocktails at The Devil’s Advocate, and went to a comedy show at The Stand. We left the next afternoon to return to Dublin.

Our return to Dublin yielded a rare sunny afternoon. We meandered to St. Stephen’s Green and I saw flashes of Washington Square Park. In the light, I could see why the city was quaint or likable. We were there for an historic vote: a referendum passed to repeal the country’s ban on abortion. The city was plastered with signs, both for and against the repeal. We were there as results came in, the following day: the repeal passed 66.4% to 33.6%.[1]

Overall, I feel reluctant to compare the two cities. Edinburgh has old-town charm and foggy mystery: Dublin has grit and reality. In the future, I’d like to return to Scotland to see the rest of the country by car; last week, I was in Dublin for a day. I’ll save my thoughts on this return visit for a later date. In the end, the trip was worth all the plotting and planning.

In March, I went to Spain for spring break. When you’ve chosen a career that allows you to have a “spring break,” you still have the privilege of going “on spring break.” While I’m not venturing to Cancún or enduring a cruise, like a decent percentage of my students, I did go to three cities in Spain.

I had never planned to go to Spain. I have a list of countries that I’d like to visit. Spain has never been on the list. I can’t entirely explain it. I figured that I’d make a stop in Spain, but never make it the destination.

Yet, I had the opportunity to visit a kindred sprit in Valencia. My friend was working at an elementary school, as an English-language teaching assistant, for a half the year. In my planning, I chose to start with a weekend in Barcelona, spend most of the work week in Valencia, and finish with a weekend in Madrid.

I flew to Barcelona and my friend took the train up from Valencia to meet me. We made two official Gaudí stops: an early morning at Park Güell and a tour of Casa Milà. I recommend arriving at Park Güell as early as possible, as it quickly became overrun and maddeningly crowded. Later, we walked by La Sagrada Família; everyone has told me I should have properly visited the church. Following an afternoon break, we went out for tapas and late-night churros.

The next day my friend and I went to the tiny Picasso Museum (free on Sundays) and took the train to Valencia. Overall, Barcelona is alive; the Gothic Quarter is very much like the meandering and disorienting alleyways of Venice. I know I have more to see and experience there, but at least I understand the city’s appeal: enormous palm trees, the sparkling sea within view, and a vibrant, if transient late-night life.

With four days in Valencia, I spent my daylight hours walking around the city. I traversed the city and walked miles upon miles. The sunny, 70-degree weather was an opportune break from a Philadelphia winter. I strolled and took pictures. I woke up early one morning to shoot large-format pictures of the main square. I receive looks of curiosity when I walk around with my large format camera on a tripod. Often, I see acknowledgement of the form, in the eyes of older individuals; this was also the case in Spain.

In my Valencia wanderings, I went to the modern art museum (IVAM), walked through the sunken Turia River Park, and, twice, shuffled through the City of Arts and Sciences, at the southeast end of the park. The City of Arts and Sciences is comprised of several buildings, designed by Santiago Calatrava and Félix Candela. The first building, L'Hemisfèric, a planetarium, IMAX theater, and laserium, was completed in 1998. Several other buildings were added to the complex over the next ten years. I was mesmerized by the futuristic feel of the buildings: Star Trek come to life. The structures are well kept and clean. Hailing from a city with limited park integration, despite William Penn’s best efforts, I found it freeing to wander a park very near the city center.

I happened to visit Valencia during the preparations for Falles. This annual festival, held in March, features fireworks, streets strung with Christmas lights à la South Philly, costumes, the construction and burning of giant-wooden structures, and, perhaps most importantly (for me), churros stands on every corner. Indeed, I ate many churros and learned that “relleno” (previously, I thought this meant something about peppers), translates as “stuffed,” and that you can find churros rellenos (churros stuffed with a thick cream or chocolate). These churros are similar to a cream-filled donut, but with much more sugar and a crisp shell. I ate so many churros that I will not eat them again for a while.

Overall, I appreciated the authenticity and lack of touristiness in Valencia. I struggle with being a tourist. I’ll avoid a David Foster Wallace detour on being a tourist; I’ll jam the thoughts that I often reference to friends, on postcards, in a footnote.[1] I’m glad that I spent four days wandering the streets. While going to bars and restaurants was easy with a Spanish-speaking friend, there was a familiarity that went beyond language. Valencia felt like Philadelphia: a city easily passed over and underrated, but with a real-life character to it.

Next, I went to Madrid on the high-speed train, alone for a night. I spent an afternoon/evening walking around in the rain and passed through the International Women’s Day March. The following day, before my friend arrived, I went to the Prado Museum and Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. The Prado isn’t my style (old masters), but I had to go. The collection is overwhelming and the building is beautiful. I enjoyed the Thyssen much more, given the 20th-century collection and a video installation by an artist I found at Art Basel, last summer: John Akomfrah. I spent more than an hour watching the entire length of his six-screen installation, “Purple,” in the museum’s basement. I was alone for most of the time, as it wasn’t entirely clear where to find his video installation. Later, still in the rain, I went to the Plaza Mayor for a calamari sandwich (bocadillo de calamares): fried calamari on long, thick, French bread. I understand why this sandwich is good; I like cities with a signature sandwich. But, I also wanted to add aioli.

The next day, when my friend arrived, we went to the requisite, crowded, touristy-but-worth-it, La Mallorquina bakery/pastry shop. The chocolate napolitana de crema (chocolate croissant) was amazing. Fueled only by chocolate and (weak) Spanish coffee, we walked to the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía. Their collection is endless and worth visiting. We stopped for afternoon tapas at Cervecería Alemana; it was a Hemingway haunt. Late in the evening we went out for dinner at Restaurante Casa Salvador. A step back in time, the restaurant is adorned with bull-fighting memorabilia. Oddly enough, I had sent my friend from Philly to this restaurant, last September. I had never been to Spain, but she asked for restaurant recommendations (research of the food kind, or any kind, is my specialty). My friend and her family enjoyed the restaurant and so did I.

The next morning, I woke up at 3:30 to take a cheap bus to the airport. Overall, I had an adventurous spring break. I ended up at an open-mic night, at a university bar, in Valencia. I ate sardines, olives, cheese, and churros with abandon. I saw modern art and architecture. I found Spain distinctly different than other places in Europe. That sounds (and is) obvious, but as a newer traveler, it’s exciting to feel the variances between countries. The diverse foods. The conflicting degrees of what “on time” may mean. The alleged reliably of trains. The indigenous flowers and trees. The way the afternoon light strikes the sidewalks and buildings. The alleyways and graffiti.

Many thanks to my friend for the invitation, as I went somewhere that may have taken me several more years to visit. None of these experiences would have been possible without her encouragement to make a spring-break visit.

____________________________

David Foster Wallace, Consider the Lobster: And Other Essays (New York: Little, Brown and Company), 2005, p. 156: “To be a mass tourist, for me, is to become a pure late-date American: alien, ignorant, greedy for something you cannot ever have, disappointed in a way you can never admit. It is to spoil, by way of sheer ontology, the very unspoiledness you are there to experience. It is to impose yourself on places that in all non-economic ways would be better, realer, without you. It is, in lines and gridlock and transaction after transaction, to confront a dimension of yourself that is as inescapable as it is painful: As a tourist, you become economically significant but existentially loathsome, an insect on a dead thing.”

Finally, I have abandoned Blogger. I started a food blog in 2008. At the time, Blogger was the best option. Since then, Blogger has become the worst option. The Google service looks terrible on a phone. The platform makes it very difficult to integrate photos and text. It’s an aesthetic nightmare. The list goes on.

The shift to a new site makes sense for several reasons. Over the years, the focus of my blog has changed. While I do write about food, I more often write about my travels. Further, I’ve begun to take photos, both film and digital. As such, I need a place to share images (without words). The old Blogger site will remain in existence: an archive. But, all new posts will be on this, visually, more appealing website.

I’ll update the main, photo-based page on a regular basis. I’m not certain that Instagram will exist forever, or much longer (@femmefermental). While Instagram has a vaguely photographic purpose, I foresee the day when I no longer open the app. A 21st-century website seems much more stable and enduring: a spot for the next ten years, or more, of The Femme Fermental.

I have always been a fan of road trips. As someone who prefers to be unsettled, road trips are a welcome way to spend a vacation. I have driven around the majority of Iceland and England. I have driven from Rome to Calabria and back. I have driven from Las Vegas to Philly. I have driven from Philly to Iowa. I have driven, alone, from Philly to Nashville and back.

I wanted to go somewhere for winter break. While a few options were considered, we chose a road trip through national parks in the southwest.

We also made stops at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Hollyhock House, Seven Magic Mountains, took a tour in Antelope Canyon, stayed overnight on a Navajo reservation in Monument Valley, took pictures at Four Corners, experienced the weird wonders of Meow Wolf, visited the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum and the Museum of International Folk Art, stayed overnight at Paolo Soleri’s Arcosanti, and saw a show at the Comedy Club in LA. The trip was 3070 miles over eleven days. One might say that I avoid relaxing vacations.

I relish the kind of in-depth planning required for this trip. Google spreadsheets and maps were involved – hours of research and planning. I worried about weather and checked the national snow cover map on a daily basis. While there was the chance of snow and closures, I like to visit sights in the off season. I’d been to the Grand Canyon twice before, both in the winter. I had visited Zion in March. I prefer to be where people aren’t. The shuttle busses don’t run throughout the parks in the winter, so you can drive through at your own pace and make stops.

While I’d been to various parts of the trip before, in its depth and breadth, the trip was the road trip I wanted. I took twenty 4x5 large-format photos, ten rolls of color film, and three rolls of black and white film. We were up for nearly every sunrise, saw the World Famous Crochet Museum, ate ramen noodles on New Year’s Eve in a tiny home at the edge of Bryce Canyon, relaxed in ceramic teacups at a Japanese-style spa in Santa Fe, ate Animal Style burgers and fries at In-N-Out Burger, drove through Sedona to the Chapel of the Holy Cross, discovered the joys of Blake’s Lotaburger, stood on the corner in Winslow, AZ, and ate (high) expectation-meeting food in L.A. at Guisados, Pizzeria Mozza, and Sqirl. The only disappointment was Marc Maron’s last-minute cancellation of his spot at the Comedy Store. One day I’ll see him there.

The trip may sound like a list, but it never felt that way. The days melted into one another. The rental car became familiar. And, to keep going felt more natural than standing still.

I knew I wanted to go to Mexico City a few years ago. I’d never been to Mexico and I’m not exactly a beach person. I’d rather be in a city than relax near the ocean. My thoughts about visiting Mexico were fueled by the James Taylor song, Mexico: “Whoa Mexico//I’ve never really been but I’d sure like to go.”

Mexico City, somehow, seemed the appropriate location for a Labor Day vacation. I like to leave the country for U.S. holidays. The flight to Mexico City isn’t too expensive and, once you’re there, everything is cheap. The city has a fantastic modernist-design element; mid-century modern Airbnbs are plentiful.

Eerily enough, two weeks after my visit, the busy neighborhood I stayed in, La Condesa, saw the worst damage from an earthquake. There was something odd and unnerving about seeing the place I had enjoyed on the news. I recognized a mural next to a decimated building in a photo and Google-mapped it to find that the location was around the corner from the AirBnb.

I had no expectations for the trip. And so, the time away was better than I could have hoped. I did my usual food planning and neighborhood mapping. Every piece of food was fantastic and affordable. Everyone was nice. Uber was more efficient than in the US. I managed to order food and get around without speaking Spanish.

After spending two weeks in Switzerland and Italy doing all things art, I wanted to take it easy. My art obsession is never ending; when it feels like an obligation, I take a break. There weren’t any exhibitions I was particularly interested in and, while I should have, I didn’t feel compelled to go to Frida Kahlo’s house. Everything I read about visiting the house seems like a nightmare. I’ve been on house tours and sometimes the crowds and lines can make it feel too rushed. So, I skipped it. Instead, there was walking around, eating food, drinking beer, sleeping in, and a gorgeous visit to Teotihuacán.

When I told people I was going to Mexico City, most replied that the trip would be scary and terrible. While the latter part was untrue, the former was, at times, true. For reasons related to safety and beyond, I’m glad that I didn’t go alone. Right at dusk, in combination with the ever-present haze of pollution, the vibe became different. Stores closed and sidewalks rolled up. Everyone went inside and it seemed like you should too. Uber is incredibly cheap in Mexico City; we always took an Uber home. Even in the vibrant, hipster, restaurant-heavy neighborhoods, it didn’t seem like walking a few blocks was a good idea. We erred on the side of caution.

But, everything else was a dream. I can't wait to explore other regions. While Mexico City isn’t the Mexico that James Taylor wrote about, it did make everything all right.